but there's chaos brewing
underneath my skin
Had Melita known of his surprise or bewilderment, seen the widening of his eyes, she would’ve grinned – feral and savage, wild and malicious, echoes of the Rift where she howled back at predators and monsters. Except she’d been concentrating too hard on the swirl of might immersed in her sanction, in her movements, incapable of twisting or turning it away. Instilled, embedded, instinctual for her to hone and harpoon whatever strength she could muster into anything she did. To her, training was no different.
The girl growled and clenched her jaw, bursting forth with renewed spirit and vigor as he attempted to push against her. At some point she must have waned, because he’d stepped forward into her orbit again, and she was forced to proceed backwards – but raised her wooden blade in hopes of catching his assault, instead of being a victim of some obvious, eventual bruising. A parry, like he’d taught her; not forgoing the wiles of the endeavor and efforts.
The girl growled and clenched her jaw, bursting forth with renewed spirit and vigor as he attempted to push against her. At some point she must have waned, because he’d stepped forward into her orbit again, and she was forced to proceed backwards – but raised her wooden blade in hopes of catching his assault, instead of being a victim of some obvious, eventual bruising. A parry, like he’d taught her; not forgoing the wiles of the endeavor and efforts.
trying to hold in the storm
instead of making waves
MELITA
